random posts

random posts

Monday, 31 December 2012

Like old Father Time says in the New Year’s card, “May good health attend you and happiness befriend you throughout the coming year.” Our greetings to remind you, that wherever fate may find you, there may joy be—and good cheer. All the best to you and yours and thanks for visiting.

Sunday, 30 December 2012

Der Spiegel (only in German, although this subject, I think, does not require much translation) has a biography and collection of images from piglet, puppy and kitten photographer and proto-meme-artist Harry Whitter Frees of Florida. I think I might have seen a few of these patiently staged vignettes before, billed last year as the original LOL Cats, but such things of course bear repeating (ad absurdum). From the 1880s through the 1930s, Frees’ pictures sold as sweet and carefully posed postcards and calendars were insanely popular, and now everything old is new again.

Predictions generally are groaning vagaries or soaring hopes and notoriously hard to makes, unless one will safely (usually) posit that we’ll be getting more of the same. Human nature and human needs tend to be stubborn and not framed as much by the fashions of the season or more meaningful Zeitgeist as we’d like to believe. Projections, on the other hand, are something quite different and science is getting better and better telescoping events, trends into the future. One specific omen that we can look forward to, astronomers foresee, is the spectacular arrival of the comet Ison, having been hurtling towards us for millions of years from the incubating edge of the Solar System, in early autumn.

The comet’s scintillations will outshine the full Moon and be a historic experience for all. It will even radiate for those who cannot see the procession of the stars and planets for themselves either because of light-pollution or impatience for the mathematical harmony of the skies. It is interesting how such astronomical apparitions, comets, novae, conjunctions and transits, became markers of the ages, a fixed reference point in time, that are equally accessible to us as inheritors and far in the future, who are able to trace backwards and reliably match our measures against those of our ancestors. I wonder how people will reckon this upcoming year of the comet.

Saturday, 29 December 2012

There is a virtual blizzard of engrossing and niche superlatives covering the past year from all angles—journalistic oddities, new discoveries in the natural sciences, a review of important archeological finds, chronicling the year with spectacular photography, advances in space science, and the lists go on. But be sure to not forget to check out Jib-Jab’s annual tradition of lampooning the past year.

Friday, 28 December 2012

By engaging in the politics of terror, I think the United States is poised to play a very risky game that risks it becoming a caricature, mockery of the democratic process. It is unfair to lay blame squarely and solely on one party faction, since there is more than ample blame to go around—including the voting-public and the abstentious, but I think it is a safe assertion to point to one cadet wing of the Republican Party, trenchantly conservative and angry, as blocking compromise and negotiation.

This one faction is hijacking, ransoming US policy, and as a result, is not only holding captive its close associates but also the broader Republican Party, the entire legislative branch and the executive besides, not to mention the ameliorating US economy, only just shooed away from the precipice and it’s not going to be something fun or exciting like a roller-coaster or going over the edge of a waterfall in a barrel—that has already been done. On some levels and in some ways, too I fear, the hostages are starting to identify, relate to their captors, though most are roundly alienated and marginalized. By all measures, the US economy is driven by consumer spending and consumer sentiment and not the ripples and tides of investment and abstract enterprise, but sacrificing the former at the bidding of the latter proves that authentic finance is just more and more relegated to show and pretense.

The Swedish language is celebrated as a plastic and living entity and each year dozens of new words are championed by the Språkrådet, the national language council.

While many of these new words are for the nonce, topical, portmanteaux or English adoptions, may not be destined forever and ever in the country’s lexicon, it is laudable that such an institution takes an interest in bon mots. Among my favourites on the list released for 2012 (the story is no longer there but please visit the Swedish daily for similar ones) are Ogooglebar (something or someone who produces no hits in an internet search), Nomofob (anxiety due to being on-line and disconnected—from no mobile phone phobia), and Henifiera (to make a statement gender neutral, in reference to the re-introduction of the neuter pronoun hen to the Swedish language this past year, a grammatically correct way to use the ambiguous and incorrect they instead of committing to he or she). The year before, some of the inventive terms included: Säpojogg (a word to describe the gait of secret agents running in business suits after their wards), Åsiktstaliban (someone who won’t give other opinions consideration) and Flipperförälder (the exact opposite of helicopter-parenting, adventuresome and encouraging pin-ball parents).

Thursday, 27 December 2012

The BBC reports on a project underway along UK roads that aims to deploy privacy screens to erect around the scene of traffic accidents, so rubberneckers (Gaffern) in the oncoming lane will not slow to get a glimpse of the wreckage and response.

It’s a terrible outlet of human curiosity that makes such drapes possibly worth the try, and I have seen congestion and jams (Stau) spill over into the opposite lane on the Autobahn for no other reason than drivers braking to gawk. Such empathy and antipathy are encouraged all the time, with greater and lesser risks to others involved, but it really becomes quite a horrific snarl when car wrecks become a sideshow, without prospects for help and does not seem to encourage greater caution. I only hope the scrim does not delay response further or erode the last vestiges of driver sympathy—or replace safety and courtesy with a sense of self-preservation in this censorship. No journey should be filled with carnage but motorists should also not be allowed to strip the stomach-churning feelings of disappointment and regret for trying to get a peek. The screens, I don’t think, are able to speed up care on their side of the island, after all.

Wednesday, 26 December 2012

We had a very fine Christmas and got many wonderful and thoughtful gifts, including from my parents a rarity that has now been repatriated, so to speak, in this incredible Martin Luther translation of the Old and New Testaments in this 1784 edition from the publishing house and theological institute of Baron Canstein in Halle, in eastern Germany by Leipzig.

Though the idea of handling it at all made my fingers feel nubby and sebaceous, I was really astounded by how it’s aged, the feel of the leather binding and the wear of the pages that I didn’t know paper was capable of as I looked through the book’s chapters, dicovering, and at the family chronicle that lists dates for ancestors well before the publication and continues until the year 1998. This venerable institute for biblical scholarship greatly propagated publishing with refined printing (Stehsatz, block typesetting) techniques and sold some four million copies at a cost of just six Groschen a piece. This enterprise not only made the Bible and other books more affordable but also supported a neighbouring foundation, die Franckesche Stiftungen, which grew from an orphanage in Halle to an international social and educational network and the institute soon merged with the foundation.

Success led to the found- ations’ works being accorded a special status and freedom by the Prussian throne, almost like a city state with imperial immediacy and allowed operations to expand and charitable works to spread. In addition to establishing schools, libraries and nursing homes there and abroad, August Hermann Francke, the founder, also gave Europe one of the first public museums by putting his personal cabinet of curiosities (Wunderkammer) on display for the emendation of all visitors. We pass Halle (Saale) often and now I feel even more guilty about not taking the time to explore and see this wonder of organization and edification at work. What great present this is, and I am sure we will be visiting soon.

Tuesday, 25 December 2012

This vintage German New Year’s greeting card is just exuding good fortune with all the lucky paraphernalia featured, the greeter riding a pig jumping over a stand of mushrooms (Glückspilze) and armed with a horseshoe and four-leaved clovers. About the only talisman, at least in German traditions, not shown is a chimney sweep (Kaminkehrer). I am just as curious as to why this profession and not butcher, baker or candlestick maker is considered auspicious, but what strikes me first is how the chimney sweep comes bearing the same toadstool. Deconstructing the symbols of luck is a bigger challenge than the turns and transpositions of holiday customs, and it is remarkable how many ways the inscrutable language of fortune infiltrates culture, yet remaining humble in its portrayal like this archetypal mushroom—everyone’s generic idea of what a mushroom should look like but having strange powers and a mysterious past. The Caterpillar from Alice’s adventures through the looking-glass holds court from such a tuffet, the Brothers Mario gain size and power from these bonuses, the Smurfs (les schtroumpfs, die Schlümpfe) lived in such mushroom houses—not to mention a staple in fairytales. A mushroom rendered in such a universally distinctive way can only be the fly agaric (Amanita muscaria), a poisonous and unpredictably psychotropic fungus, which surely caused some fretful parents to condemn the Smurfs (and their underwater counterparts, the Snorks) as promoting drug use, like the same concerned group thought that the Care Bears were a satanic gateway organization, and although the mushroom grows anywhere that pine trees grow, it was considered highly dangerous to ingest (although most drugs I think are unpredictable) and there is only evidence in use in the far eastern reaches of Russia, restricted to the shaman caste or religious purposes.I wonder how such an exclusive yet ubiquitous substance was translated to some universally hoped for but escapingly rare commodity as providence. It is strange what can develope in abject isolation. It’s no explanation, but the luckiness of the chimney sweep, who introduced industrial cancer and labour reform to the world besides, seem to operate under a similar logic—a reminder that one’s hearth and home had not burnt down, due to a poorly maintained fireplace, but still representing a kind of forbidden and untouchable skill, like for those who live in psychedelic houses.

Monday, 24 December 2012

Seasonal salutations to all our readers. Many thanks for visiting, and now Gladys the Matron Angel there in the background will play a Christmas time polka on her accordion for you. Carols, originally, were not just meant to be belted out by a choir but also had a rhythm and a beat that one dance to. Any respectable troupe of carollers will have a dancing fool designated.

Sunday, 23 December 2012

I know people near and far are unfortunately dealing with more devastating flooding, but it does come as a rather dramatic and menacing change from speculation over a white Christmas to having our little stream threatening to spill over the streets. All the heavy snows from the past week are melting fast and producing more water than the rivers and tributaries can handle, and though this is not the first or worst we’ve seen of it, it generally came in late winter and never this early.

The outlying fields then become an expansive inland sea as there’s too much water to soak up and the town’s landscape is transformed by this shimmering, temporary reflecting pool and little torrents turn before spring begins, but it all seems to be coming to soon and too frequently. It is strange to see the tolerance for the tipping point, the range that buffered imbalance, grow more and more narrow. Improving environmental practices is always challenging because it is not just changed behaviours (good climate karma that may still not be enough to turn the tide) locally, though much evidence and hardship is a local matter—where ever local is, that makes change but rather globally, in attitude and deed, that can lessen negative effects and allow nature to heal.

Loggerheads, not develop- ments or discourse regardless of tone, concerning the state of the budget and forward-policy regarding taxation and funding for prosecuting wars of all ilk in the US is diabolical in the detail and shortfalls, and despite whether trailing or leading discussion and coverage of the issue, I suppose that these particulars do not matter overmuch nor ever survive the next cycle of austerity American-style.

A polarized, frightful and fear-mongering legislature, with an array of cadet tentacles and inventive pseudopodia (ψευδοπόδια, false feet), is projecting away from any language of compromise, familiarly and characteristically stalling, a move taken from a playbook that could be transposed anywhere and for any episode, showdown that has passed recently and for the foreseeable future. Such inflexibility and laming division allows government to conveniently ignore the mandate of the people who they are supposed to represent and stoke other external pressures, like business and the markets, which always trump congressional indolence and force many hands. It is a vicious cycle of dismantling and up-building inverted, where the conventions razed or raised are the opposite of what’s in anyone’s long-term interest and more and more dulling with each passing deadline and limit.

We mostly take for granted the fact that we live in charted territory and that almost any route imaginable has been scouted out, the path is well-worn and clearly marked, and that the starting point and destination have fixed addresses, precise under any number of conventions, by the postal system, government and satellite telemetry. The planet’s newest nation, South Sudan, however (and with its capital Juba situated in a district called Central Equatoria, one might be excused for thinking one ought to be able to pin point whereabouts precisely), possesses a paucity of cartographical information about itself, which is a disservice to the young country in terms of understanding demographics, infrastructure and its own resources and moving forward after years of strife.

The lands of South Sudan, including geological data (albeit dated and limited) concerning where mineral and oil wealth might be found, have been mapped to a certain extent before, but since gaining independence from Northern Sudan, all records have been sequestered there and the former powers are not willing to share, possibly begrudging the break-away state success by ransoming decades old geological surveys, not to mention street maps. Students from universities in Juba and Berlin aim to stake South Sudan’s autonomy further by creating a new, advanced atlas of country and the environment, and they hope this collaboration helps the people not only better understand and describe their urban landscapes and know the value of what may lie undiscovered underneath but also understand how best to work the land (mapping in depth the crops that are grown on farms and how different seed fare) in a sustainable way and better care for the environment. Surveyors are constantly re-assessing and re-evaluating plots and parcels, and it is a base of knowledge that certainly deserves re-thinking from time to time but usually not something reinvented or made from scratch—questions of ownership of these charts and tables aside. Maybe having to literally and figuratively map one’s world is an occasion to treat those emergent features with utmost care.

Saturday, 22 December 2012

I have noticed an overarching theme in portrayals of the near future, usually of the dystopian or post-apocalyptic varieties, which include as a strange, albeit convenient, deus ex machina of a human sub-species with telekinetic or telepathic powers. Cinematically, to me, this seems as troublesome as the paradoxes of time travel, and it seems terribly unlikely that such a patently useful and fulfilling trait would evolve or a mutation pedigreed. I think man has little impetus to evolve, because environmental factors and disadvantageous qualities can and should be accommodated. It’s hard to say what humans would have tended towards, left to the brute elements, had empathy and industry not converged along with natural developed, and we probably would not have liked it—especially since evolution is not a matter of wish or sophistication but practicality and claws and fur and spider-sense, I think, would return long before the debut of psychic powers.

Over yonder on the indices Mental Floss, contributor Glen Gower (the self- described Cliff Claven of Caroling) features some of his favourite trivia about Christmas carols gleaned from an amazing list of curious facts he is busily compiling. It’s fascinating and some that struck me so far is that O Holy Night was the second song to be broadcast over the radio in 1906, and that Do You Hear What I Hear? was written in response to the Cuban Missile Crisis, and that Silent Night (Stille Nacht) exists as a song in over one hundred forty different languages and has been declared by UNESCO as a treasure of intangible cultural heritage.

Normally, the last few days in the office before Christmas and the inter-festum week are pretty quiet and peaceful with calling on each and every colleague with season’s greetings, but there has been some ruinous and reactionary business that’s managed to sideline everything else.

Though I know the urgency, a rolling and universal audit, is not over trifles and reflects the tide of public sentiment over bigger contemporary tragedies and the inertia of delay (until after the holidays) and procrastination is a dangerous thing as well, exculpating policy and exporting blame and failure without perspective is neither an enduring remedy. On top of all that, being exhausted and not of the jolliest persuasion, I feel ashamed for worrying about the little distractions—like my generations’ old laptop having become suddenly less reliable and clenching up when I try to use it normally. There are four other computers to use around the house besides, so I think I am not really justified in devoting more time to tinkering with the boot-log that comes rolling past on start-up and the range of non-functionality that comes out of my experiments—but that’s also been a fount of frustrations and causing a bit of writers’ block. I just need to sing some carols and batten down the mood and everything will work out merry and bright.

Thursday, 20 December 2012

I am sure that in the moment and even more in the near future, the apocalyptic associations of the year will evaporate, replaced with stauncher stuff and remembered for what’s important. While most of the fretting and hand-wringing involved issues of less cataclysmic proportions, there was still surely a bit of vanity in being the height, the end, or possibly final straw of humanity, the Holocene age, and maybe the shadow of rush or procrastination (else, of satisfaction and contentment, too) in the back of people’s minds. Here’s a poorly remembered selection of just a few moments of the past year. It is a little early for superlatives, maybe, but no one is writing 2012 off just yet and it is certainly not a diminishing but rather the opposite as events past into the chronicle.

January: The European Union and others levy trade embargos against Iran over the countries continuing efforts to enrich uranium and nuclear research in a process and debate that has lasted through the year.

February: Queen Elizabeth II celebrated her Diamond Jubilee on the throne of Great Britain and the Common Wealth States. We had to say goodbye to Whitney Houston.

March: After 244 years of publication, the Encyclopædia Britannica is no longer in print—that is, in book form.

April: World stock-markets drop precipitously in reaction to talk of euro-zone debt realities and rumour. China unpegs the yuan from the US dollar and threatens the dollar’s status as a world reserve currency. The Arab Spring continues with uprisings in Bahrain and Syria. We had to say good bye to long-time Band-Stand and New Year’s Eve gala host Dick Clark—well-played, Mayans, well-played.

May: There was spate of bizarre and gory attacks in the United States that invoked both cannibalism and zombies. We had to say good bye to Vidal Sassoon and Donna Summer.

June: We had to say good bye to visionary author Ray Bradbury. Germany rejects proposals to pool EU debt, arguing it is an individual responsibility, while Greece elects an anti-austerity government.

July: CERN laboratories isolate the Higgs-Boson particle. Electricity blackouts in India leave more than a half-a-billion without power for days.

August: The rover Curiosity lands on Mars and begins exploring. We had to say good bye to astronaut Neil Armstrong.

September: A number of terrorist attacks are coordinated against Western interests overseas, including American embassies in response to outrages over contemptible portrayals of culture and religion.

October: A sky-diver plunged from the stratosphere and descended faster than the speed of sound. A hurricane caused death and destruction from the Caribbean up through the eastern seaboard of North America.

November: Barack Obama was re-elected for his second term as US president. The United Nations voted to grant the Palestinian territories with cadet status. We had to say good bye to Larry Hagman.

December: A horrific school shooting happened in a Kindergarten in Connecticut. We had to say good bye to architect and incubator Oscar Niemeyer, sitar-man Ravi Shankar, and jazz innovator Dave Brubeck.

We will see what the close of the year and the new one to come bring. A lot of the matter of 2012 appears to be continuation of old business, only to out-do itself and be more glorious or notorious.

And though attention and tolerance usually seek out familiar shores right away, it might be that some of the incidents and accidents of the past chapter of months make their consequence known and bring about reform and inspection, like in terms of managing violence and protection or environmental stewardship, in the next.

Tuesday, 18 December 2012

On the state level, two separate regions of Germany are calling for very different reforms whose intentions and actions wear both the sticks-and-stones persona of cyber-affairs and speak to the growing entanglement, irretrievability and dependence on connections and the synapses between people. Officials in the state of Sachsen-Anhalt want to give law-enforcement the ability to shut down telecommunication service providers unilaterally in cases of imminent threat to life and limb, and as a staunch corollary, courts in Schleswig-Holstein want a certain social-networking service to change its policy about joining under a nom de plume and is poised to impose hefty fines should the requirement or real names continue.Currently, law enforcement can only shut down a cellular tower outside the express physical presence and permission via warrant if and only if there is bomb inside the cell tower. Opponents to the measures fear, as has been done in the US and elsewhere, that the police and government will use these martial-powers to silence dissent and hinder coordination for protests. The proposal further imposes that all infrastructure (along every point) have an easily accessible kill-switch, which can only be brought back online by competent authorities. The social network is refusing to waive the requirement on identity (I never knew that one had to use such credentials but apparently so) and is not entertaining arguments, despite the fact the rule is in violation of German and European Union privacy protections—not that people are guaranteed anonymity or pseudo-anonymity but that people are guaranteed certain protections on their personal data which no business or aggregator government can pretend to honour. Anyone who exercises freedom of speech and expression does so contractually, knowing that there is no intent to harm or befoul, but that contract is not drawn up in a vacuum, by companies or by government agencies. The right to be forgot entails that one’s footprints are not tracked without good reason and that an shadow that cannot be shed be linked to one’s name evermore. It is strange that the trade and tools of civil rights has been summarily reduced to this sort of smugness.

Monday, 17 December 2012

While researching something else entirely (and I hope they never manage to work up a deliver system that can filter out all things tangential and only present exactly what one was looking for), I can across this really neat, abstract—modern totem for the City of Frankfurt am Main in use during the years of the Weimar Republic between World War I and II. The constitutional convention of 1919 took up the standard of the city that had hosted the last attempt, some sixty years prior, in deference to those efforts to first unite the German peoples under a constitutional monarchy.

Those seminarians were overcome by war and political intrigues but the task was one worth repeating and the Reichsadler (not empire but rather the word suggests realms) of Frankfurt is reflected in the contemporary seal of the federal government and seen on government buildings. Frankfurt modified its symbols and coat-of-arms to distinguish itself from the central government, and while the vexillology passed down does look quite dignified and officious, this sort-lived alternative offers an interesting statement on anachronism, seeming almost tiki inspired and with the talons of a Lego minifig.

Sunday, 16 December 2012

The evening prayers of the last seven days of Advent, leading up to Christmas, in Western church traditions are punctuated with vocative calls and responses called the O Antiphons. The cycle begins on 17. December with O Sapientia (O Wisdom), then O Adonai (O Lord), and so one, dedicating the evening’s meditation to one aspect attributed to Jesus. The tradition was originally restricted to the cloister and each of the seven days was an occasion to exchange presents among the community, but later was made part of Christmas time celebrations.

This seems like a very nice and collected way to approach the holidays and properly wind down from all the jingle-pressure, and although the 21. December has garnered an awful reputation—though only, I think, for this year and not for very much longer, I do appreciate the fact that the chant or that night is O Oriens—o breaking of the day, splendor of the light eternal. Though we should fear not, we ought not, I think, to stammer along without any take-away. It is not necessarily something dodged or a saving grace, to reboot from dreary pessimism, but could still be an antiphon that days, no matter how limitless or numbered, are gifts and should not be taken for granted.

Occasionally I wish that I had better recall of my dreams. Mostly they evaporate too quickly and I’m only left with the nagging tug of something forgotten, and regardless of what techniques I try, I am usually only able to remember my dreams as I am dreaming and they all come back in many layers with similarities that tunnel through. Although I am far from sure that I am loosing anything particularly creative, profound or prophetic by not remembering or if that’s just the preserving nature of dreaming, I do sometimes manage to retain, with some effort, not so much the content but rather the mechanics of an idea that I dreamt. I woke with the impression, already slipping into vagaries, whether ones nightly imaginings were responsive or pre-programmed.

I have experienced of course the alarm clock or other noises or physical urgencies ingratiating themselves an instant before waking, and I wondered if whole themes weren’t triggered by the mind’s chemistry responding to being too cold or overheated or other subtle stimuli. I also recollected the possibility that dreaming run on a fixed schedule, that maybe one dreams ones entire life as the subconscious sees it, or pre-determined segments of it, like a radio station’s broadcast day, with different scheduled hosts. Thanks for joining us for the Witching Hour, and next we’ll be playing you through 0400 with some familiar classics like impossible staircases, small dogs, driving from the backseat and vertical warehouses, but first here is a one-hit-wonder from the eighties, repetitive Tetris stepwise motion. I wonder if what strikes us as memorable or contemporary—or even as therapeutic or cathartic, in dreams only sticks because anything and everything is cycled through and the waking mind latched on to a coincidence of memory and revises, rewrites the whole evening’s play-list in a way we can make use of it in the here and now. Dreaming’s clearing-house, I suspect, is both responsive and on a certain timetable but maybe the masks that the waking and sleeping brain put on each other make such analogies very limited.

Though I feel woefully inadequate to offer relief to the unthinkable tragedies of the headlines and do not want to be another haunting voice to those who suffered loss, especially for those without intermediacy and far-reaching empathy, it is the hard things that sometimes one must do: that the author of the Hunger Games franchise hails from the same small community strikes me as something curious and unexpected. It is surely nothing to detract from the gravity of the situation nor the serious discussions that need to take place in the aftermath, neither is it any condolence or help for healing.Far from glorifying violence, which I believe the American media unfortunately does with its cause-celeb, striding on the necks of facts to try to be first to get the story without regard for the consequences of inaccurate reporting or of making matinee idol monsters to be understood rather than allow us to contemplate those enduring monsters that we create and tolerate, the stories were an allegory inspired by seeing the same kind of terrible juxtapositions of war and violence and the anodyne chasers of misfit reportage filed under culture and lifestyle and usually for the benefit of sponsorship, the stories were allegories questioning the same kind of spectacle and of the horrors that go unseen by institutions and estate. Redressing injustice is not a matter entertained due to customs imbued. Shield laws are in place for other crimes, meant to stave off premature incrimination and allow the law to pass judgment before the media and public has already decided, and though there is no innocence to protect or peace to be recaptured in such cases, maybe allegory for the outside world is a better format in order to avoid the vicious trap of fame. These terrors need to be seen and should be consigned to history, but the unfiltered unfolding of events and hastily assembled biographies and backstories do not help law enforcement and responders once broadcast, and I fear only serve to propagate that awful virus of twisted, angry logic when all involved become instant and intimate characters on the world’s stage that the audience is keen to analyze and interpret.

Saturday, 15 December 2012

The old high gate towers undergo a very neat transformation with Christmas time when they’re strung with lights and the outline gives the stone the glow and the rich, earthy hue of a gingerbread house (Lebkucken Haus) with icing, especially from a distance.

On the interior, within the city walls, a different sort of Space Invaders light show was beamed on that tall canvas to pique the shopping mood on the cold night of the seasonal market and a lot of different stalls lined the historic city center. Surrounding buildings were also bathed and splashed with spotlights of all different colours.